


Praxus Died in a Klick

by those_painted_wings



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/those_painted_wings/pseuds/those_painted_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only one direct survivor of the destruction of Praxus: Bluestreak. What of those who didn't make it? In a city of thousands, there are thousands of stories, and this is the end of one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praxus Died in a Klick

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment in writing styles.

Even on the day he onlined, he had been the silent one. His mentor had simply laughed, and named him Solarity – the one who, like a sun, is content at a distance.

Solarity was silent because he had no need of speech. Everything that needed to be said could also be told by motion; by action and emotion he engaged the world. All that could be said was said by others and there was no need of his own words. He would sit by himself, doorwings angled high and audials, recievers tuned to catch the words of other mecha's conversations; it was never silent.

One time he left their physical presence, the presence of his mentor remaining in mind but not body. His mentor hummed to himself; the soft off-key notes staved the silence and made Solarity's mind calm. To the tune of the world and the words of news announcers on general lines Solarity sat and was quiet beneath the glare of noon-day star. From a sub-space pocket – what a fine mod – he took oxidized goodness; an appetizing treat to savor by himself.

Beside the shadow of a great filter for the noisy neighbors he rested. The alleyway was not empty, filled with scrap and detritus of many spark-lives. The memories of their uses lingered around the old metal heaps, creating their own presence. Within the shop run by Solarity's mentor, many new things clamored for attention, their presence obnoxious and temporary. Here the used and experienced sang old songs of trouble and love and usefulness.

In the physical realm, another spark came looking for company and materials to brighten a frame or home. Solarity's mentor was good at what he did, and the customer spoke happy words and left without pain. Solarity mourned, for a moment, his inability to follow the one whom he loved so.

Hawker – for that was his mentor's name, the one who shares the resonance of many – loved to speak and be heard. By his words Hawker lived the world; by his spark he knew to do so. With that gift Hawker was successful in business, but better even than that: he was happy. Solarity's nature was not so, and Hawker's profession could never align to his spark.

Hawker had never failed to acknowledge Solarity's individuality, never expected a clone or a protege. So Solarity's mourning was not for what he was expected to do, but what he could not do and wished to. Solarity had never spoken a word in his function – some three vorns. Not an eternity: eternity could never be reached, but long enough to live only on the words of others. Enough. Solarity loved his mentor and the silence he was allowed to maintain but not deny.

As Solarity hummed beneath the great star and in the patterns of the abandoned metal, his mentor spoke words not physical. The words came into Solarity's own mind, thought to thought, almost. A comm: Sol, I'm going to get us some energon from the corner supply. I'll be back in a few breem.

Back, Sol sent: the feeling of sitting in the light that warmed his plating and sent his fans whirring; contentment; rust sticks in his mouth.

The comm cut off, but so did everything else, as if the world had ended.

The world had ended and its inhabitants screamed in their silence. Even as life continued through war, life had ended forever; sparks could not be recalled from whatever void or source they departed to. There was no warning, no call for help, no plea of mercy. There was nothing but silence in an instant. Praxus died in a klick as the Decepticon bombs rained down upon her, and Solarity was silent.


End file.
